Disgust
by Zebrastreifen
Summary: "The first thing Emily sensed when she opened her eyes was the disgusting smell. Not even fully awake, she immediately knew something was wrong. This was not her bed, not her apartment, not where she was supposed to wake up on a Sunday morning." Did she even want to know what had happened? Who will be there to pick up the pieces this night had broken her into? WARNING: NON-CON
1. Chapter 1

The first thing Emily sensed when she opened her eyes was the disgusting smell. Not even fully awake, she immediately knew something was wrong. This was not her bed, not her apartment, not where she was supposed to wake up on a Sunday morning. Taking a brave look to the other side of the bed, she realized she was alone. Was that good or bad?

Still in disgust, she kicked away the filthy sheets only to find herself lying on a bare, stained mattress.

Naked.

"Oh my god!" Emily jumped up. What - except for the obvious - had to go wrong to end up naked in a dirty motel room? She froze when a second possibility popped up in her mind.

She had already had a few one-night-stands before, but none of them had felt _like this_. The worst thing that had happened up to now was being woken by the hysterical sobs of the very pregnant wife of the man Emily had ended up in bed with. Of course she hadn't had any idea that the man she had left the bar with the night before (what was his name? Jake? Josh? John?) was married or soon to be a father! She had wordlessly escaped the situation by simply fleeing from the guy's apartment, knowing that there would not have been any point of assuring the crying girl she had had no idea that he was married. The only thing that had mattered to her was that Jake/Josh/John had known and ignored that.

But this situation was completely different. This motel was the kind of place where worse things happened. The kind of place where you could check in as "Hannibal Lecter" without anyone wanting to see an ID or asking about unconscious girl you were dragging along behind yourself.

Had she been this woman the night before?

What had happened? Why didn't she have any memory of the last night?

And where did the pain between her legs come from?

Emily didn't have to see the spots of blood to know that whatever had happened had probably crossed the line between consensual and non-consensual sex by far...

She reached the toilet bowl just in time before the urge to empty her stomach had become too big to retain.

What the hell was wrong with her?

* * *

Staring into the scrawled mirror above the sink, she couldn't help but start crying.

Where did the bite mark on her neck come from?

Why was she here?

Where the hell was "here", anyway?

Only half-aware of what she was doing, Emily entered the shower cabin, which definitely had not been cleaned for at least weeks. She was not really surprised to find it was not working. Trying to find at least something like a wash-cloth, she opened the small cupboard underneath the sink, but the only thing she found was a cockroach panicky fleeing from the light. Grossed out, Emily fled from the bathroom herself.

The only thing she could think of right now - if her semi-terrified, semi-autopilot state of mind could even be considered thinking, was getting out of here as soon as possible.

Trying to get herself together, Emily grabbed her clothes which were lying widely scattered on the dirty carpeted floor. It took her a few moments to accept she was not going to find her slip which she had been looking for quite some time now. It was gone, probably ended up as a trophy in a cardboard box under someone's bed. She shivered in disgust ... and shame...

Scouring the pockets of her jacket for her valuables, she panicked again. Her purse was gone. She checked everything over and over again. Nothing.

At least the keys of her car and her cell phone were still there. Not wanting to accept she had not only been - whatever had happened - but also been stolen from, she tried to remember where else her purse could be.

She felt something like relief when it finally hit her: She had left her purse in her car to prevent it from being stolen inside the bar. Only taking a few bank notes inside should have also made sure she didn't drink too much - no money, no alcohol - but obviously this part of her plan had been defeated...

* * *

Now she was standing in a filthy motel room, without money and underwear, her car probably miles away - this area didn't look like it was anywhere near the bar she had been the night before...

Emily forced herself not to think about it - not to think about anything except for a way how to get home again. Her only option was to call someone and ask him to pick her up - any other way would require money she didn't have.

At least she finally knew where she was - she had found a dirty glass bowl with matchboxes and condoms in it, both wrappings imprinted with logo and address of the motel whose name "daydream motel" seemed more than inappropriate...

Blinking back the tears, Emily dialed JJ's number, but nobody answered the phone. She tried again and again, but to no effect.

After having left several messages on JJ's home phone answering machine and the mailboxes of her FBI- and her private cell phone, Emily sank down on the dirty floor, pulled her legs to her body and waited for JJ to come and pick up the pieces she had been left in.


	2. Chapter 2

An eternity later, Emily's phone finally rang.

"can't pick u up - Henry's sick, gotta stay with him.  
I'm sorry. r u alright?"

Emily forced herself to fight back her tears. Why now? Henry was probably the healthiest boy on Earth! Why was he sick now of all times when she needed JJ more than she ever had before? Trying to calm down, she thought about whom to call instead.

Reid? No way! She couldn't handle any statistics now - and Emily was sure Spence had statistics about date-rape-drugs, the reasons why to use a dirty motel and so many other things she just didn't want to hear right now.

Garcia? If she told her what had (probably) happened, the team's queen of wisdom couldn't be held back from following this guy's electronic track back to the credit card that had paid for the hospital room his mother had given birth to him. That didn't really match Emily's plans of just forgetting what had happened.

Morgan would swear to find this guy, too, but Emily didn't want to imagine what he'd do to him, and Rossi wasn't an option either. If there was anything she could handle even less than the current situation, it was the look Dave would give her if she told him - the same kind of "I'm here for you, whenever you need me. It's not your fault" - look he had given her when she'd told him about her teenage pregnancy and everything that followed. Rossi already knew too many of her dark secrets. Emily was not sure whether she could ever look him in the eyes again, if he also knew _this_.

So who was left? Hotch. Hotch, who would hopefully just look at her with the same stain, stoic face as usual and drop her off at her place without saying a word.

Forcing herself not to think about any other options, Emily dialed the cell phone number of her boss, who immediately responded the call after the first ringing.

"Hotchner."

"This is Emily. I... I was wondering if..." Emily took a deep breath. She needed to stay calm, needed to focus, needed to sound like she was fine.

"I was wondering whether you could give me a ride home..."

"Where are you?"

Emily had thought about leaving the motel and get picked up somewhere else. She could walk to a neutral place like a coffee shop or a diner, but something deep inside told her that whoever picked her up would _know_ something was wrong, and the reason why they'd know was not the profiler thing but the simple fact that they cared for her. The only problem was that Emily was someone who hated being cared for, so she was glad Hotch didn't comment on the fact that his female colleague had to be picked up at a motel in a terrible quarter on a Sunday morning.

* * *

Emily didn't know why she felt the need to tell him it was not what it looked like. Hotch hated that phrase, because every time someone said that, things were _exactly_ what they looked like. Although he refused to accept what seemed obvious to him - that Emily had come along with someone she hadn't even been worth a decent hotel room to, leaving her car wherever she had met _him_ - dammit, she was an FBI profiler! She should actually know how things like that could end!

But Hotch didn't say anything about it. Instead, he told her the ride would take him about thirty minutes, ended the call and left his apartment, bracing himself to find things being exactly what they looked like.


	3. Chapter 3

With every mile he drove further into the heart of the district he was to fetch Emily from, Hotchner's disgust grew. In fact, the association of "heart" didn't match this area at all. It was more like festering wound, only occasionally eliminating germs like the dubious figures immediately fleeing from the black SUV Aaron was driving. Cars like his always brought trouble upon people in areas like this, and for them, it didn't even matter whether the tinted, bullet-proof glass was protecting members of a gang or of the police.

Of course, Hotch felt sorry for the poor, socially despised who were practically forced to live here without having done anything bad or illegal at all. But when it came to Emily, he didn't feel sorry at all, but furious.

He had already known for some time that she had occasional one-night-stands, but imagining them, Aaron had always thought of attractive, nice guys who were only looking for some fun. Guys who were still suffering from their most recent breakup, now trying to satisfy a woman at least for a couple of hours. Guys who would make certain that this was what the girl wanted before they took her home, home to a small, but clean bachelor's den, offering them breakfast in bed the morning after.

Why on earth did Emily stoop to the level of filthy men for who she was nothing more than a comp whore? She was smart. Beautiful. Special. Didn't she know that or didn't she care?

Hotch sighed, knowing he'd never get an answer to this question - and neither to all the other ones floating around in his head. Of course they somehow were friends, but nevertheless their relationship was more of the boss-and-subordinate-kind.

He was expected to do her the favor of not asking questions like this, but to only drive her home or wherever she had left her car the night before, after deciding to... Hotch forced himself to dismiss the thought of anything that had happened between Emily and this guy who had obviously been selfish enough to leave her at a dirty gutter motel without wasting much thought on how she'd get home.

There had to be another explanation! Emily was not _that_ kind of girl, right? Hotch tried to recall what exactly she had said earlier. She had not given him any kind of justification! Did this mean she didn't want to talk about it, or did this mean that there was a totally harmless explanation for having to be picked up at a dirty motel on a Sunday morning she was going to tell him as soon as he was there?

Maybe her car had broken down in the middle of nowhere, and considering the time of day she had decided to stay somewhere for the night, not wanting to cause any more trouble by calling someone in the middle of the night? Hotch felt himself calming down again. Yes. This was so much more Emily-like! This was the Emily he knew. This was the Emily he... He rolled his eyes, interrupting his own thoughts. *One thing after the other* he told himself. At first, he had to focus on his GPS to find the tiny motel with the certainly unjustified name. Then, he'd pick Emily up and let her repeat the explanation he had already pre-formulated in his mind. Maybe he could even invite her for breakfast - not in some kind of 2-Dollar-Diner, but somewhere decent, of course.

Yeah, that was the plan. And it seemed like a good plan, though...


	4. Chapter 4

... the only problem with this oh so great plan was that it completely failed. Although only seeing Emily from a distance, Hotch immediately knew that his best-case scenario was not going to come true. Emily was not happily and thankfully heading for him, loudly cursing her car. But neither was she hesitantly coming closer, avoiding his gaze, feeling ashamed for what had happened last night.

Instead, she was sitting on the dirty stairs in front of the motel's entrance, her face buried in her hands, her body shaking. She was crying...

* * *

The parking area was almost totally empty, so Hotch parked the SUV in what he considered a good distance to the main entrance and Emily. He had never seen her cry before, and he didn't know what to do. The only thing he did know was that Emily wouldn't want him to park right in front of her, wouldn't want to be seen like this, especially not by her boss.

But how could he "warn" her? The car was already parked, so he couldn't just call and tell her he'd be there in a few minutes. Hell, he was even within sight! As soon as she'd look up, she'd see him!

Eying Emily, who hadn't changed her position, Hotchner sighed.

Even if he had been able to announce himself from a distance, Emily would know that he had seen her _like this_.

* * *

Before he was fully aware of what he was doing, Aaron had already opened the door and exited the car. When the door shut with a bang, Emily startled and looked up. Noticing the approaching man was her boss, she quickly tried to wipe away the smudgy trails of mascara running down her cheeks, but she knew she wouldn't be able to hide the fact that she had just been crying.

"Emily...?"

She sniffed.

"I... I'm sorry, Hotch."

Why was she apologizing?

"There's nothing to be sorry for, Emily."

She didn't answer. Looking down to her, Hotch saw new tears running down her cheeks.

He knelt down in front of her, trying to get a glimpse of her face, but she turned away.

"Please don't look at me!"

Hotch felt incredibly rude. He knew that Emily would have felt most comfortable with him just getting back to the car now, telling her to follow him when she was ready and then not asking any further questions. But he couldn't do that.

What on earth had happened to her?

Trying to be more discrete this time, Hotch scanned Emily's body for bruises, but he couldn't find any. It meant she hadn't been in a fight or in ... some other kind of struggle ..., right? Of course he knew that the mere fact that he couldn't see any bruises didn't mean that there weren't any, but nevertheless Hotch was relieved.

* * *

"Emily...", he started again, "I know you just want me to drive you home. Want me not look at you, not to any questions. But I can't do that. I can't just ignore what I'm seeing here right now. Something happened to you. Something really bad. I... know I can't force you to tell me, and even if I could, I wouldn't do that. I just want you to know that I'm here for you, Emily."

She sniffed and tried to wipe away her tears again.

"I... I can't tell you!" She whispered.

"Yes you can! I'm not going to tell anyone, I promise. And I'm not going to hurt you."

She shook her head.

"I know that! But nevertheless I can't tell you what happened. Because I don't know!"

Hotch frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"I... I don't know what happened. I don't know how or why I ended up here. I... don't remember anything!" She paused for a moment, and then, as if she was scared of his judging, she added:

"I didn't drink that much. I never do! You know that! I never end up in places like _this_!"

She was shaking now, but Hotch couldn't tell whether it was from anger, shame or fear.

* * *

Seconds - minutes? - passed, and none of them spoke a word. Then, at some point, Hotch couldn't bear all the what-ifs any longer.

"Do you think you might have been... drugged?"

Emily hesitated. "I don't know. Maybe?"

"Well, did you... feel sick when you woke up? That's a symptom of most of the popular..." He left the sentence unfinished when he realized he couldn't speak of "date-RAPE-drugs"-right now without making Emily freak out. Of course she would have thought about this possibility, too, but hearing it from someone else was definitely another matter!

Emily nodded anyways.

"Yes, I did feel sick. But that doesn't have to mean anything. You didn't see my room!"

She tried to smile, but the smile didn't reach her eyes.

Again, none of them spoke a word

* * *

"Do you want me to call the police?" Aaron finally asked.

Emily immediately shook her head, and Hotch was not surprised.

"Are you sure? If someone drugged you, then you were most likely..."

Again, he interrupted himself. Why couldn't he just shut up? It was already enough as it was!

"I'm sorry. I guess I've been in this job for too long now..."

Emily didn't respond to his suggestion or his apology. Instead, she just said:

"Hotch, please. I... don't want to be here."

He nodded, and when they reached his car, he didn't comment on the fact that she chose to sit on the back-seat. Instead, he backed out of the parking space and drove off without speaking.


	5. Chapter 5

Although they had been driving for quite some time now, nothing they passed looked familiar to Emily. Shouldn't they have at least reached the _area_ she lived in by now?

"Hotch? Where are we? Where are you taking me to? " She didn't have the energy to hide the panic in her voice.

Emily immediately regretted having chosen to sit on the backseat. She couldn't see his eyes, couldn't read his face. Ashamed as she was, Emily had not thought of that when she had gotten into the car. The only thing she had been thinking of was not letting Hotch look at her. Now she was curled up into a ball on the backseat of his SUV, fully dependant on him and where he would take her to.

"Please trust me, Emily."

Trust him? Everything was too vague. Where was he taking her? Emily involuntarily started to tremble. She _knew_ Hotch would not hurt her, _knew_ she could trust him, but nevertheless, she was scared. All she wanted to do is go home, take a shower (and then maybe another ...) and hide under her covers until she felt strong enough to convince herself and the others she was fine.

Maybe things were not as bad as they seemed? Maybe she had just had a couple of drinks more than she had thought. Maybe she had had consensual sex with whoever had escorted her from the bar to this filthy motel room? Rough sex, okay (somehow she needed to explain the blood to herself), but consensual sex. ...and the guy could simply be on an early shift what had forced him to leave before she was awake. One could not expect being brought breakfast in bed by a guy who had not found it necessary to chose a motel with at least any standards of hygiene at all. Right?

Emily felt herself calming down. The trembling had stopped, and she was finally able to breathe again. Now being able to focus, she looked through the window - and immediately panicked again. Hotch was just parking the car in front of a hospital!

"NO!"

"Em..."

"NO! I WON'T GO IN THERE!"

She had almost convinced her she was fine! Why was he doing this to her? Why couldn't he just let her go home? "I'M FINE!" Getting ready to get out of his car, she added: "I will find a way to get home! I don't need you!", but before Emily was able to open the door, Hotch had quickly locked them by pressing the central locking button. He unbuckled his seatbelt and turned around towards Emily, who was giving him a half-furious, half-terrified look. He sighed.

"I cannot force you to go in there. I know that as your _boss,_ I don't have the right to issue any orders right now. But as your _friend_, I ask you to get tested for drugs and let them do a..."

"NO! NO RAPE KIT"

"Emily..."

"I'm fine!"

"You were..."

"NO! I wanted it!"

Aaron forced himself to stay calm.

"You just told me you didn't have any memories of what happened."

"I remember now. I wanted it." It was so damn obvious that she lied, but Emily needed Hotch to believe her. Needed him to think whatever he wanted to - except for this one thing.

"I'm a filthy whore, okay? But I'm NOT a victim!"

She spat out the last word like it was a piece of dirt.

"You're not."

Hotch didn't specify which word he was referring to, leaving Emily unsure whether he had just agreed on her not being a victim or whether he didn't want her to call herself a whore.

"So you prefer making yourself and me think you are an easy girl who just drinks too much and follows a complete stranger into a shabby motel letting him... do things you are unable to remember when you wake up the next day?"

Emily avoided his gaze, biting her lip.

"You're not the kind of woman to be fucked on dirty motel sheets, Emily, so don't pretend to be because you can't handle what really happened!"

Emily gasped for breath. How dare he talk to her like that? Hotch turned around again, motionlessly staring through the windshield. He could not face her, and above all, he didn't want her to have to face him. He had crossed a line, several lines, to be more precise. The only thing Emily had asked for was a ride home. Instead, he had ignored her wish and forced her to face up to things she was not ready for.

"I'm sorry. I... That was completely inappropriate. I have no right to talk to you like that. Please forgive me."

In spite of his apology, Emily was still speechless. She had never heard Hotch using the f-word before, had never before witnessed him being so rude, so ...emotional... She could tell by his behavior that he _really_ cared. Maybe that was exactly what she needed right now? Was Hotch right? Was she being a coward? Was she acting like a victim by pretending _not to_ be one?

"Emily? Please say something!" He begged, still not turning around.


End file.
